Candy Cane Christmas
by karly05
Summary: Another installment in my Candace story arc, as she and Ambrose get ready for Christmas in their little household. As always, it helps if you've read my previous stories involving Candace and Ambrose.


**A/N – Yes, I know Christmas is long over. This is another story in the Candace/Ambrose arc. Again, you really need to read "Christmas Song," "Unplanned" and "Puppy Love" first. "His Name Was Matt" wouldn't hurt, either. Ambrose is my fault; everyone else belongs to Dan & Swampy.**

Candy Cane Christmas

Candace Petersen woke up at precisely 2:45 am. _Talk about 'Creature of Habit,'_ she thought. The alarm wasn't even set, she didn't even have to think about going to work today, and still, here it was, 2:45 right on the dot and she was awake. Those poor saps on the Channel 9 Breakfast Show would be rolling out of bed right about now, she gloated, but she was lucky enough to work for WJOP, where the _Wake Up, Danville!_ crew actually had Christmas morning off. Now, she laughed in the face of the alarm clock – figuratively, at least – and turned over, only to find herself alone in the bed. _Hm._ It had been nearly three hours since Ambrose had gotten up. He couldn't still be downstairs, could he? Well, there was one way to find out.

Donning her robe and slippers, Candace paused in the hallway long enough to peek into the smaller bedroom and make certain Amanda was still asleep. The five-year-old was deep in dreamland and Candace smiled at the peaceful sight before she headed downstairs. Before she reached the ground floor, she could hear the sounds of snapping plastic and muted grumbling, punctuated by an occasional squeaking noise. She found the living room overflowing with Christmas: The tree, smothered in twinkling lights and almost too tall for the room, had been taking up space for weeks, but now it was surrounded by heaps of presents wrapped in bright papers and big bows. A sparkly pink bicycle was parked on the hearth, and four stockings were hung by the chimney with care. Three of them were stuffed with peppermint canes and bon bons, but the fourth and smallest stocking held rawhide twists and bone-shaped treats. In the midst of all this holiday bounty sat Santa Claus – or a reasonable facsimile – cross-legged on the floor with the myriad pieces and parts of a plastic dollhouse scattered before him. His little helper, looking more like a fluffy black and white dog than an elf, was chewing on a rubber reindeer that was making the squeaking sound Candace had noticed on the stairs. The dog looked up and acknowledged Mommy with a tail wag and a fond whine before returning her attention to the reindeer.

"You gave Trixie her squeaky toy?" Candace asked Santa Claus.

"Well, it is technically Christmas Day," he explained. "And I had to distract her with something. I didn't want her making noise and waking up Amanda."

Candace looked down at her husband and reiterated, "You didn't want her making noise… so you gave her a _squeaky toy_."

Ambrose looked at the dog and acknowledged, with a sheepish grin, "Um… yeah. Well," he placated his wife, "that's why you're the brains of the outfit."

With an affectionate shake of her head, Candace asked, "Have you been down here since midnight?"

Ambrose looked up with an expression of exhausted determination. "Darcie's Dream House," he gestured to the mess. "They should have called it Darcie's Nightmare House."

Candace sat down opposite him and picked up the lopsided combination of two walls and a roof panel that he had managed to get together. "Did this come with instructions?"

"Yeah, but I think the drawings are in Chinese." Feeling around on the floor, he found the paper booklet and passed it to her. "Man, this beard is hot. I don't know how the real Santa does it."

She could tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was joking, but Candace said, off-handedly, "You know there is a real Santa. I've met him." As expected, he just chuckled at this, and she added, "He's a lot fatter than you."

Ambrose wasn't exactly thin, and he patted his red-suited belly as he ruefully said, "Try telling my Mom that." He watched with interest as Candace began sorting the dollhouse pieces into smaller groups, then joined in, lining up the plastic beams and connectors.

Candace took a look at the instructions and made a face when she tried to decipher them. "Ugh. Where are Phineas and Ferb when I need them? Okay," she breathed, "we can do this. Kitchen floor…" she picked it up in one hand and looked around, "goes with the kitchen wall…" Ambrose found a likely-looking panel. Candace spotted another. "And that's the wall that connects to the living room…"

"Foot bone's connected to the ankle bone," Ambrose sang jokingly in a subdued voice, as Candace held two wall sections at right angles and he slid an L-shaped plastic beam between them. "Ankle bone's connected to the leg bone…"

As the two of them began to make sense of the dollhouse, Candace remarked, "You really went all out on the Santa suit."

"I didn't want Amanda to wake up and come down and find Daddy putting out the toys. Gotta keep up the illusion. For a few more years, at least."

"And by then, you can start over with the New Kid," Candace smiled. The 'New Kid,' as they had already dubbed their second child, wasn't even apparent yet, but they were planning to announce their impending Blessed Event to the rest of the family on New Year's Eve. "I hope this one's a boy. Amanda would love a little brother."

"It'll be you and Phineas all over again," Ambrose chuckled.

"And Ferb," she put in.

"And Ferb," he acknowledged good-naturedly. Candace knew that her husband and step-brother still weren't the best of friends, and probably never would be, but they were at least cordial. Now he craned to see the plastic panel in her hand and asked, "Is that part of the bathroom?" They spent a while passing walls and floors back and forth as the Dream House finally began to live up to its name. Trixie's squeaky toy gradually fell silent, only to be replaced by the little doggie snores that came from her crooked jaw. Eventually, as Ambrose was snapping together the elevator, he ventured, "How serious are you about Xavier?"

Candace knew that uneasy tone and sighed. "I know you're not crazy about it…"

"It's just – well, it's different. Nobody's going to know how to spell it, or pronounce it. He's going to get teased for having a weird name."

"It's not weird, it's a nice name," Candace defended her choice.

"Yeah, so is Ambrose," he remarked glumly. "But believe me, I got an earful about that growing up. I'd just like for our son to have a 'regular guy' name. Something simple, and straightforward, that can't be misspelled or mangled."

"Like what?" Candace snorted out a chuckle. "Fred?"

To her surprise, Ambrose's eyes lit up at this suggestion, and a contemplative smile showed behind the fake beard as he said, "Yeah. Fred Petersen. Why not? It's a good, solid name. Xavier could be his middle name," he offered. "And if he wanted to go by that, well, then that would be up to him."

"Fred Petersen," Candace muttered, half smiling as she shook her head. She wasn't entirely sold on it yet, but she had to admit, it wasn't as awful as she had first thought. And as long as she could use Xavier as his middle name… Roof panels were fastened into place as she pondered this, and Ambrose passed her the pink plastic chimney.

"Would you do the honors, Mrs. Claus?"

Rising to her knees, Candace snapped the last piece onto the top of the dollhouse and made a show of wiping her palms together briskly to convey, _Well, that's done! _Ambrose was on his feet now and helped her to stand, and she hugged him. "Good job, Santa."

"Couldn't have done it without you," he bent down and kissed her.

"Pfffft! Pllffft!" she puffed through her lips, brushing off the fake white hairs. "Ugh. Now take off that beard and come to bed." She started for the stairs, but Ambrose held her back by one hand.

"In a minute. Come sit down with me," he coaxed, leading her to the armchair.

"Ooh, Santa's lap," she teased, perching on his knee. "I haven't been here in years."

"So, Little Candace," Ambrose put on a hearty voice. With a glance at the ceiling, Candace shushed him, and he went on at a lower volume. "Santa has a surprise for you."

"I'll bet he does," she giggled, arms around his neck.

"No-o-o," his cheeks turned rosy in reaction to her remark, "_another_ kind of surprise. Your husband is moving up in the world. Well, I may be," he amended this in reaction to her curious look. "I haven't said yes yet. I need your opinion. It would be a big change – but it could be really good for us. Especially with the New Kid coming," he stroked her gingerly.

Candace tensed. She had sensed over the past week or two that something was up with him. And Ambrose had been fretting for months over the ongoing cutbacks at the Daily Danville. The local newspaper had gone through two changes of ownership since Amanda was born and was now in negotiations to sell to yet another media conglomerate. With every change, the newsroom got smaller, and Ambrose grew more pessimistic about the paper's future. But he had always loved his job as a journalist, and she had always been certain he would bravely go down with the ship before he would give that up. Now, instinctively, she shook her head. "Ambrose, honey, I trust you, but – I really don't want to leave Danville."

"We won't," he insisted, quick to reassure her. "No one's leaving Danville. You're not going to believe this," he was grinning like a kid who had just found his name on the biggest box under the tree, "but… I've got a job offer from City Hall." He gave her a moment to let this sink in before he gushed, "From _Mayor Doofenshmirtz, himself_! Can you believe it? Roger Doofenshmirtz wants _me_ to be the Communications Director for the _entire Tri-State Area_."

Ambrose was actually bouncing her on his knee as he said this. Candace was still a bit stunned as she clarified, "You mean, like a press secretary?"

"Well, yeah," he nodded. "Press secretary, media liaison, maybe polish up some speeches. It's a great opportunity. We're still kicking around numbers, but it'll pay better than the newspaper. And I can get into the municipal pension plan. We'll be able to afford a bigger place, you can take as long a maternity leave as you want for the New Kid. What do you think?" he asked eagerly, cuddling her and bouncing her on his knee again.

"But… you love journalism," Candace reminded him.

"This is still journalism," he insisted. "Just from the other side."

"The political side," she pointed out.

"It's not politics," he scoffed. "It's Roger Doofenshmirtz!"

This was the happiest Candace had ever seen her husband, short of their wedding and the birth of Amanda. She knew that, from the first big interview he had landed with the man, Ambrose had looked up to Danville's consistently re-elected Mayor. And, even though he was a little starry-eyed in his admiration, he certainly wasn't alone. Roger Doofenshmirtz was a respected public servant who had done a lot of good for the city. Candace couldn't resist chucking in a dig, though: "You know Ferb calls him 'Emperor Doofenshmirtz.'"

Ambrose's brow knit into a slightly peeved frown. "Ferb is madly in love with the daughter of the Mayor's estranged brother, who is, in plain English, a whack-a-doodle." Now, he cuddled his wife again and pleaded, "So, what do you think?"

Carefully holding the curly white mustache out of her way, Candace kissed him on the nose. "Honey, I don't need a bigger place, or a municipal pension. We'll be fine, whatever happens. But if this is what you really want, then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent."

With a sigh of relief, Ambrose let his head rest against her shoulder. "I love you, Candy Cane."

A warm glow rippled through her when he said this. The first time Ambrose had called her Candy Cane, when they were dating, it had shocked her. The only other person who had ever called her that was her Daddy – her first Daddy. She had told him that story, and he had listened with such compassion, and had promised never to use the name again if it upset her. But Candace had come to love hearing it from him; it was sweet, and special, a murmured endearment just between the two of them. Now she smiled and snuggled close as she said, "I love you, too."

It was going to be a wonderful Christmas.

THE END


End file.
